


Thranduil and His Best Friend

by CosmiQuorraHolmes



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adoption, And all that jazz, Battle, Best Friends, Child Abandonment, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Coming of Age, Dragons, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Growing Up, Growing Up Together, Implied Slash, Kid Fic, Kid Thranduil, Lee Pace - Freeform, Lothlórien, Mirkwood, OFC is basically Eva Green, Parent Thranduil, Pre-Hobbit, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Sindarin, Teen Romance, Teen Thranduil, War of Wrath, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:05:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmiQuorraHolmes/pseuds/CosmiQuorraHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tags explain it all</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thranduil and His Best Friend

The guards heard her before they saw her. The woman, who's face was hidden by a dark hood, was panting as she carried the large basket in front of her. All the guards could see of her was a pale braid of golden hair falling down from her shoulder, the moonlight shining on the vague form of a pale face and within the wicker casket was a large mess of cloth.

Her heavy breathing and grunting at the weight was heard by the three elves who stood before the threshold of their realm. Concerned and confused, they glanced at eachother before each of them drew and nocked an arrow.

"Who goes there?" one called in his native tongue as she came nearer.

She stopped abrubtly, and strangled sobs could be heard from where she stood. "I am a simple elf of Lothlórien, carrying a burden that I am no longer fit to bear," she replied in the same language. "Her name is Morwen, and her years are four-and-twenty. I have not the resources nor the time to look after her, so I place my trust and everlasting gratitude to whosoever takes her in and cares for her as I ought to have done."

The woman took notice of the guards lowering their bows, so she walked forwards, set the basket down and revealed the sleeping face of a pale-skinned but unusually black-haired child whose eyes moved in a dream.

"I assure you that the child will remain in good hands," the guard replied, taking the girl from her makeshift bed and held her bridal style with hand behind her neck and another beneath her knees, the silver fabric soft to the touch. "Even if she must be taken somewhere away from here. Pray, spend the night here. You may rest, and within that time the Elvenking will be told of the situation."

She sighed and faintly shook her head. "I cannot, for I must depart swiftly if I am to return to Lórien by tomorrow afternoon. I am sorry that I could not do more for her or for you, but it seems that I am not ready for parenthood as of yet. I fare thee well, and pray give Oropher and her new family my thanks!" And with that she ran back into the forests of the Greenwood.

The elves watched her leave and stood there for a few moments before a slight chill came upon the breeze. The guard who carried her, Maethor, took Morwen inside the warm halls of the Elvenking as she slept, and during the walk to the throne room he had a chance to study her features.

Her pale face was slim and had a soft jawline. Curled strands of obsidian hair fell over her nose and down towards the ground. Her nose, although soft, was slightly pointed at the tip and her breathing was slow and deep.

When Maethor arrived at the doors of the throne room, he instructed the guard who stood there to open the doors and introduce him. When the large wooden doors were opened, he walked quickly towards his king, who sat cross-legged with his ice grey eyes boring into the guard's soul.

"My king," he began, bowing as low as he possibly could in his situation, before standing again. "One of our kin from Lothlórien came here only moments ago, carrying with her this child. She has trusted us with her and the girl is in need of suitable carers."

At this a blond-haired child popped out his head from behind the wooden throne, his silver eyes full with a new sense of wonder. He looked at the child in the guard's arms before walking to them, his head leaning ever so slightly to the right.

"What is her name," he asked, softly.

"She is called Morwen, my prince," Maethor replied, kneeling so as to let the boy see her face. "And I believe that she is waking up."

As if it was planned the girl in his arms opened her eyes, now revealing a pair of light blue irises that flitted around the room to see where she was.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice light yet seemingly wiser than her years. "Where am I?"

The Elvenking stood and gracefully glided down the steps to stand above the girl. "You are in the Throne Room of the Elvenking in Greenwood."

"I am Maethor," he said, letting her stand up by herself and revealing her sightly above average height.

"And I am Thranduil!" the prince yelled happily as he bounced around the girl. "Why is your hair so funny?"

Morwen smiled at him, before replying "It's because I was cursed by my fairy godmother."

"Really?"

"No, you silly boy!" she laughed as she tucked a strand behind her ear. "I was born with it. Do you want to play?"

Thranduil looked down at his feet, a saddened expression on his face. "I have never played before," he whispered, until he smiled up at the newcomer in front of him. "Can you teach me?"

"Well," she began, grinning at the prince and tucking another strand of hair behind her ear, "'tis easy to do." The girl walked towards him, an impish smirk creating dimples on her face, and she reached out her hand to his shoulder, startling him. "Tag!" she yelled, giggling and running from her new playmate.

He ran after her, a grin on his face and a new-found energy in his heart. His hair flowed behind him and her ebony curls bounced as she teased him, which was something that no one in the realm had ever done before. Oropher frowned at them, and moved to stop their childish ways, before Maethor put a hand on his shoulder.

"My king," he said quietly, watching the younger elves and hearing the prince's laugh, "forgive me, but the Prince has had few encounters such as this, and I believe it shall prove well for him. Listen, sire, he is laughing! Pray tell, when was the last time that the young prince laughed? I have not heard such a thing for the thirty-one years that he has breathed air."

The Elvenking turned, shocked at the guard's sudden outburst as they stared at eachother for a few moments. "It would suit you well to know your place," he murmured. "But you are right, old friend. My son seems happy with this girl, and I am truly glad for that. Have any arrangements been made for her care?"

"None as of yet, sir. Why? Are you pondering on whether to take her in as your own?"

Oropher smiled, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "No, Maethor, that is not what I was thinking of. I was actually wondering if you would care for the child."

"Sire, that is exactly what I had in mind."

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! First Hobbit fic EVER but please don't hate. I like it. Jesus I've just realized how overboard I was with the tags. Sorry. xoxo


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